


Finding Home

by gettingaphdinlarry



Series: To Give You a Hand to Hold: Doc and Monster [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Best Friends, Drabble, Friends to Lovers, I promise, M/M, Triple Drabble, even though it's in first person, that liminal space between friends and lovers, this is not a self insert fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:36:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7383925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingaphdinlarry/pseuds/gettingaphdinlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stay as long as you want,” you say, shrugging.</p><p>“People say that...”</p><p>“I mean it.” Your eyes flick to meet mine. You gulp your beer. “I’m serious.”</p><p>::</p><p>Harry finds home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Home

“How long will you stay here?” your friend asks me.

“I don't know.” I laugh and glance at you. Your neck is tense.

“Stay as long as you want,” you say, shrugging.

“People say that...”

“I mean it.” Your eyes flick to meet mine. You gulp your beer. “I’m serious.”

As we get home, my phone rings. “When are you coming home, Harry?”

 _Mom_ , I mouth, stepping over your shoes and kicking off mine. “Which home? You moved.”

“Still home.”

“I like it here.”

She sighs. “It’s too cold.”

“Not really.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

I close my eyes. Don’t wait.

 

The smell of yeast fills the room, and the butter softens on the table. You cook chicken thighs in a cast iron skillet, while I steam broccoli and carrots.

You wash your hands and wipe them on the kitchen towel. “Do you miss home?”

I wipe my hands, pressing the dampness you left behind against my fingers. I bite my cheek. “No. I like it here.”

The timer buzzes. “Ready for the oven. Biscuits done?”

I peek. “Perfect.” We dance past each other, maneuvering with hot pans of golden brown bread and a heavy pan of flesh, bone, and fat.

 

 **Tomorrow, 10:40, terminal 2** , you text.

**I’ll be there.**

I crave your presence.

I drift to your bedroom door. I gaze at the bits of you left behind. Jeans draped over a chair. A picture of us, arms slung across shoulders. I sit on your rumpled bed, touch the empty space where your body isn’t.

“Louis, I’m scared,” I whisper. As if you’ll hear. “I think I’m in love. With you.”

I roll over and press my face to your pillow. I inhale your scent. If I try hard enough, I think I can taste you behind my teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Because [Awriterwrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites) asked for it. And thanks to [MyOwnSpark](http://archiveofourown.org/users/myownspark/pseuds/myownspark) for betaing.
> 
> This is a stand alone fic, but can also be read as a companion piece to _To Give You a Hand to Hold._
> 
> Say hi on [Tumblr](http://gettingaphdinlarry.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Look, it's a rebloggable [illustration post](http://gettingaphdinlarry.tumblr.com/post/147263218701/finding-home-300-words-by-gettingaphdinlarry)!


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